Big Ming sighed: the extravagant gesture seemed to make his body odour even more intense. ‘Ah went because Gary asked me tae,’ he said wearily.
‘Mr Starr asked you to go there,’ Wilding repeated.
‘Aye.’
‘Why?’
‘He never said.’
‘Come on, Mr Smith. We’ve been doing so well up to now.’
‘He jist asked me to go, honest.’
‘How?’
‘Ah told yis, Ah dinna ken how.’
‘No, Mr Smith, that’s “how” as in by what means, not “how” as in why.’
‘He lent me his car.’
‘He did what? That was bloody generous of him, wasn’t it?’
‘Ah suppose it wis: Ah never thought of it that way, but.’
‘What kind of car was it?’
‘A Mercedes: one o’ they wee ones. It wis a diesel: went for ever on a tankful.’
‘How did you get to Spain?’
‘Ah drove it down tae Portsmouth and got the ferry tae Bilbao.’
‘Just you? Nobody else?’
Big Ming gave the detective a look that spoke for itself: he had nobody else.
‘When you got to Pamplona, what did you do?’
‘Ah checked intae a hotel and parked the car in a garage.’
‘You mean a covered park?’
‘Naw, it was a proper garage. Gary telt me tae go there; he said Ah could leave the car there, and pick it up when Ah wis ready tae go back.’
‘How long did you stay there?’
‘Four days, then Ah got the ferry back.’
‘Who did you meet when you were there?’
‘Naebody.’
‘Where did you stay?’
‘In a hotel. It was called the Three Kings: that isnae its Spanish name, like, but that’s whit it means in English.’
‘Los Tres Reyes,’ Wilding murmured.
‘Aye, that wis it. It wis a barry hotel like.’
‘A what?’ asked Mackenzie.’
‘Barry means “good” in Edinburgh-speak, sir,’ the sergeant explained.
‘Aye, good,’ Big Ming concurred. ‘Fuck knows whit it cost: Gary paid for it wi’ his card, and he gi’ed me money for petrol an’ ma drink.’
‘But you met nobody when you stayed there?’ Wilding asked again.
‘Naebody.’
‘Didn’t the whole arrangement strike you as odd? A free trip to Spain three years on the trot?’
‘Gary said it was a bonus, like; tax-free, like.’ His face fell as a thought struck him. ‘Yis’ll no’ tell the Inland Revenue, will yis?’
‘If I find out that you’ve been making all this up, Mr Smith, the Inland Revenue is going to be the least of your worries. If I find out that you’ve missed out the smallest detail, likewise. What was the name of the garage?’
‘Ah cannae remember. It was in a place called Carrer . . . that’s whit they ca’ streets there . . . Ortiz, that’s all Ah ken.’
‘What happened when you dropped the car off?’
‘Nothin’. Ah just said tae the bloke there that Ah wis frae Edinburgh, and he took the keys aff me. When Ah went back, he gave me them back; Ah never had tae pay nothin’, like.’
‘Did you notice anything about the car when you picked it up?’
Big Ming looked puzzled. ‘Naw. Naebody had been usin’ it if that’s whit yis mean. Ah’d have kent frae the petrol tank. Naebody had been smokin’ in it either, and a’ thae Spanish folk smoke. Gary would have gone mental if any cunt hid been smokin’ in his motor.’
Wilding glanced sideways at Mackenzie. ‘A minute outside, sir.’
‘Yes. I think so. We’ll be back in a minute, Mr Smith.’ The two detectives rose and left the room. ‘That was a very nice kite, Ray,’ said the chief inspector, as the door closed. There was more than a trace of sarcasm in his voice. ‘It would have been nice to know in advance that you were going to fly it, though. We’re a team and we should operate that way. I don’t like surprises from my own side of the table in mid-interview.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, boss. I didn’t pre-plan anything: the idea just came to me as we spoke. I had no idea where it was going to take us.’
‘So what are you thinking?’
‘That we should get hold of Starr’s car and take it apart: see what traces we find in it.’
‘Do you think Big Ming’s as dumb as he’s letting on?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir, but if he was doing what we think he was, he’s hardly going to come right out and tell us about it, is he?’
‘He didn’t strike me as that quick on his feet, I admit. Can you remember if there’s a garage at Starr’s house?’
‘Yes, there is. The door opens on to the lane behind.’
‘Then let’s see if the car’s there: if it is we’ll have it taken up to the park behind Fettes.’
‘I’ll alert DI Dorward. His people will have to strip it.’
‘They’ll need help: I’ll phone the local Mercedes dealership and see if they’ll lend us a mechanic. We’ll need a specialist for this job.’
‘You’re sure about this? I don’t want to handle the flak on my own if we spend all this time and money and the thing comes up clean.’
Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you trust me, Wilding?’ he asked.
‘It’s an old principle, sir, called covering my arse.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence! Don’t worry, I’ll sign off on it. Gary Starr wasn’t the sort of man to hand out free holidays, least of all in his car. Besides, I’ve got my own reasons for following this through. Ray, when I was on the Drugs Squad I reckoned I knew all the sources and all the suppliers, except one. I’ve never been able to pin him down, until now.’
‘Should we inform the Drugs Squad, and the SDEA for that matter?’
‘No, we’ll run with it for now. I’m not letting them in on it until I have to.’
‘Are you not going to tell Mr McIlhenney?’
‘No, I’m fucking not! Are you suggesting I don’t have authority here?’
‘No, sir, it’s your shout.’
‘Thank you for that,’ said the chief inspector, sarcastically. ‘Now, before we go up to Starr’s place, make that call to Dorward. I’m going back in to see Smith.’
Mackenzie stepped back into the interview room with a grin on his face. Big Ming saw it and looked even more nervous. ‘Did you really never ask any questions about these free holidays, Mr Smith?’
The man shifted in his seat once more, sending another stale blast across the table. ‘Listen, mister, you didnae know Gary. He was a’ right, but he didnae like being asked questions. If Ah had, then Eddie Charnwood would have got the freebies.’
‘I doubt that, Mr Smith: Mr Charnwood would certainly have asked what it was all about.’ To his surprise, Mackenzie felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the hapless witness before him. ‘Ming,’ he found himself saying, ‘I’ve got some bad news for you. Starr had another business interest apart from bookmaking. He was a cocaine dealer, and it looks as if he set you up to import the stuff for him.’
The last vestige of colour drained from the big man’s face. ‘Naw,’ he whimpered.
‘I’m afraid so: we still have some checks to do, and we’ll need to keep you here while we make them. If it’s confirmed, you’ll be asked to remember every last detail of those trips to Spain, and to help us identify everyone you spoke to or saw at that garage. It’ll be your way out of the situation. Do you understand me?’
The man nodded his greasy head. ‘Aye.’
‘Good man.’ Mackenzie rose to leave, then stopped. ‘You know, there’s one thing about all this that still puzzles me. We know that Starr lied about the incident in the shop on Friday. There was no attempted armed robbery: he mutilated that lad, deliberately. So why the hell did he call the police afterwards?’
‘He didnae,’ Big Ming muttered.
The detective stared at him. ‘What did you sa
y?’
‘It wis me that got the polis. When Ah went in the shop, after the boy bumped intae me, and saw that finger lyin’ on the counter, Ah got such a fricht Ah ran back oot again. Ah saw a panda car turning intae Evesham Street, and Ah flagged it doon. Gary wisnae pleased: Ah could hear him in the shop cryin’, “What the fuck are ye daein’?” but it wis too late by then.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘An’ ye ken whit? Ah still ken that boy frae somewhere.’
‘In that case,’ said Mackenzie, ‘I think we should put your time with us to good use, by showing you some photographs. Maybe you’ll spot him again.’
Thirty-two
Outside, the last light of day was almost gone: the man sat at the table and looked out of the upper-storey window, his hands clasped around a mug of coffee to disguise the fact that they were trembling. His thick brown hair was still slightly damp from the shower, but he was freshly shaved, and dressed in crisp clean clothes. When the door opened behind him, he did not turn round for one simple reason: he was afraid. He had heard the gunshots earlier: he wondered about Sewell and whether when the sun rose next morning it would reveal a freshly turned patch of earth in the garden. And he wondered whether there was a second grave waiting.
Two figures, one male, one female, walked round the table and took seats opposite him. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Hassett,’ said the woman. ‘I am Detective Inspector Dorothy Shannon, and this is Deputy Chief Constable Bob Skinner, although I believe that you may have met already.’
‘We have,’ said Hassett, slowly. Some of the fear left him: these were police officers, therefore the aftermath was being handled officially. Still, there had been those gunshots.
It was as if Skinner had read his mind. ‘Sewell was a hopeless case,’ he said. ‘I knew as soon as I saw him, earlier this afternoon, that it would have been a waste of time interrogating him. I could never have relied on anything he told us. That was his choice: he knew what it would lead to.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re a civilian, they wouldn’t involve you in something like that.’
The Scot smiled wryly. ‘Miles, if you saw the file on me that’s probably lying in Sir Evelyn Grey’s safe, you would realise very quickly that your assumption is way off the mark. You’ve been listening to the Quo for the last week, for Rudy Sewell’s enlightenment rather than yours . . . I’m sure you’ve noticed that the music’s stopped, by the way . . . but are you familiar with Dire Straits? To misquote their finest hour, this is a private investigation, not a public inquiry.’
Suddenly the big detective’s eyes were as hard as flint, and as cold as liquid oxygen. ‘We’re going to do this the traditional way, like we did when you were arrested in Edinburgh, with you, me and Neil McIlhenney. This time DI Shannon’s the good cop instead of Neil, but I’m still the bad cop, the very bad cop, as always. I’m going to shut up now, and let my colleague ask the questions. I don’t want to have to open my mouth for the rest of this interview, otherwise I’ll get annoyed. In case you thought I was an easy touch the last time, I was pretty tired then, plus I’d just killed a couple of people: associates of yours, in fact.’
Shannon sat motionless beside him, her face set. While they were waiting downstairs for Hassett to be made ready for them, Skinner had briefed her fully on what had happened at St Andrews . . . or almost fully.
‘Mr Hassett,’ she began, ‘when you were under interrogation in Edinburgh you gave an account of your involvement in the incident at St Salvator’s Hall. You said that the plotters were Rudolph Sewell, of the Security Service, popularly known as MI5, a military intelligence officer, now dead, an MI6 agent, Petrit Bassam Kastrati, also known as Peter Bassam, now also deceased, and yourself. You admitted that your purpose was to change the line of succession to the throne by removing a member of the Royal Family. Do you agree with that summary?’
‘Yes,’ Hassett replied cautiously.
‘What can you tell us about Peter Bassam?’
‘That information is restricted to members of my department.’
Shannon smiled. ‘Mr Hassett, you don’t have a department any more. What we’re looking for here is co-operation: nothing you tell us is going to become public. Please: you are in no position to prevaricate.’
‘There is very little to tell,’ Hassett snapped. ‘Bassam was an asset of ours in the former Yugoslavia, and in Albania. When he ran out of time there we got him a German passport and brought him to Scotland.’
‘Who was his handler?’
‘Rudy Sewell ran him, in his time with the Secret Intelligence Service, before he was deactivated. He had been “put to sleep”, as it were, in the restaurant in Edinburgh, against the possibility that he might have been needed again.’
‘That’s not what Piers Frame told us.’
The man blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This afternoon, while we were on our way here, Mr Frame instituted a search within MI6 . . . forgive me if my use of the popular name offends you . . . for the files relating to his department’s relationship with Mr Bassam. The strange thing was, he couldn’t find any.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that Bassam was never an asset, as you put it, of the Secret Intelligence Service. They don’t know anything about him.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Hassett declared. ‘You’re trying to trick me: I’m not saying anything more.’ He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at them.
‘Look at me.’ Skinner’s voice was not much above a whisper yet it was as if an invisible hand had grasped the other man’s chin and forced his head upwards until his eyes were captured by the detective’s pitiless gaze. ‘You’re a traitor, Miles. Do you know what would have happened to you two hundred and fifty years ago? Do you know what the sentence was? This was it: “You shall be hanged by the neck and being alive cut down, your privy members shall be cut off and your bowels taken out and burned before you, your head severed from your body and your body divided into four quarters to be disposed of at the King’s pleasure.” It’s said to have been devised by Edward Longshanks to discourage his enemies in Scotland and Wales, and it was so effective, and popular with the mob, that it was used for five hundred years. As cruel and unusual punishments go, it was out there on its own. It makes the practices of other cultures, which we’re always very quick to condemn as barbaric, seem gentle by comparison. We may not do all that any more, but we still feel the same about traitors. You’re a fatal accident waiting to happen, pal, and you know it, however much you might try to kid yourself. If you look down the dark tunnel that’s the rest of your life, you will see a chink of light; be in no doubt, it is indeed an oncoming train. If you want to retain any hope of a happier outcome, you will tell us everything you know and you will do it now.’
‘Are you saying that if I co-operate, I might . . .’
‘I’m making no promises, but arrangements could be made. You’ve heard of the witness protection programme, haven’t you? People like you live most of your lives under aliases, so it would be a natural environment for you.’
‘Can I have time to think about it?’
‘No. Inspector, carry on.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Shannon looked across the table, silent until she was certain that she had Hassett’s attention. ‘Let’s go back to Bassam,’ she said, when she was ready. ‘We’ve established that he wasn’t one of yours, so whose was he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘Sewell produced him: he gave me his name and address and told me to go up to Edinburgh to recruit him.’
‘So this was after the plot was under way?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did it all begin?’
‘With Sewell. He ran the Emerging Threats section within Five, and so our interests overlapped frequently. He asked me to meet him one day last June, not at Thames House or Vauxhall Cross, but on a houseboat.’
‘A houseboat?’
‘Yes: it’s a converted barge, permanently moored in Chelsea.’
‘Who owns it?’
‘I’ve no idea of that either: at the time I assumed that the Security Service did. Maybe they do.’
‘We’ll check that. Did he tell you what he wanted to talk about?’
‘He said that something was afoot . . . his exact words . . . and it had been suggested to him that I was a suitable person with whom to discuss it.’
‘So you met Sewell there?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened at the meeting?’
‘Rudy went straight to the heart of it. He told me that his department had identified a most serious emerging threat to the nation, and to its security, one that if not countered would lead to the end of a thousand years of stable government. I was suitably shocked, and asked him what it was. He told me that it was the future direction of the Royal Family, a generation or two down the line. He told me that there was serious concern within circles of influence that, with the demise of the Conservative Party as an effective political force and with the absence of any meaningful parliamentary opposition, we have become a one-party state. He said that the collective view was that in such circumstances there is more need than ever for a strong Monarchy as a counterbalance to the folly of government, if the British way of life is to be preserved.’
‘By “the British way of life”, he meant what, precisely?’
‘He was referring to traditional British values, and the need to stop their further dilution.’
‘Do you mean racial dilution?’
‘There was concern about the flow of immigration, and about the inability, and indeed the unwillingness, of government to do anything about it, but I wouldn’t say that the worry was primarily racial.’
‘Did you share that concern when it was put to you?’
‘Rudy asked me that, straight out. I told him that I did, and that many of my circle did.’ He became animated, taking the inspector by surprise. ‘You can’t deny it,’ he exclaimed. ‘England is disappearing before our eyes.’
Skinner chuckled quietly. ‘I know quite a few people who would consider that a bloody good thing.’
Shannon frowned at his interruption. ‘Did Sewell propose a solution?’ she asked.
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